Abigail Moore

“Everything if only you could see it clearly enough, is beautiful and complete – the ragged nest, Marion’s torn muslin skirts fluted like a nautilus shell, Irma’s ringlets framing her face in exquisite wiry spirals – even Edith, flushed and childishly vulnerable in sleep.”
― Joan Lindsay, Picnic at Hanging Rock

“A tangle of star jasmine spilled across the path and Alice knelt to pluck a sprig, holding it beneath her nose and breathing in the scent of captured sunshine. On a whim, she unlaced her shoes. A delicate iron chair stood in a nook beside the camellia, and she sat, slipping her feet free and peeling off her socks, wiggling her toes in the surprise of the balmy air. A late butterfly hovered at a nearby rosebush, and Alice thought, as always, of her father.”
― Kate Morton, The Lake House

“Sometimes I would like to be a child again, and other times a woman made of snow.”
― Deirdre Sullivan, Tangleweed and Brine

“The snow was coming down so hard. It looked like the flakes were hurrying to get out of the sky so the next ones would have room to fall.”
― Bill McKibben, Radio Free Vermont: A Fable of Resistance